


The BananaBird Chronicles: After Dark

by peaches2217



Series: The Kyokotta Household [4]
Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Fluff, I figured this was the lesser of the two evils, M/M, No shotacon on my good Christian AO3, Smut, anyway, as with the main BBC they're aged up, in which Darby can't do titles, it was either this or The BananaBird Chronicles 2: Electric Boogaloo, motherFUCKER I need help making decent titles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 00:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaches2217/pseuds/peaches2217
Summary: The cool thing about being an android that's permanently in your late teens: you're always beautiful, fit, and full of energy.The not-so-cool thing about that same scenario: you're a constant victim to rampant hormones.It does help when you've got a partner who's in the same position as you, though. At least there's never a dull moment.





	1. Good Morning!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been threatening to do this, and here it is. May God have mercy on our souls.
> 
> Please... don't be too harsh. It's been a while since I've written smut, and I have very little experience with M/M smut, so this will be a continuous effort at sharpening my skills. Please be patient with me.
> 
> (Also, for those starting with this one, the references made in this chapter are all from Chapters 8 and 10 of The BananaBird Chronicles. I've got a bunch of stuff yet to be published that cross-reference my other works, and it can get very confusing, so I apologize!)

Len had only woken up a few minutes earlier, but already he felt wide awake.

He’d long since gotten used to the sight of Oliver snoozing beside him — not that he loved the sight any less for it — but this was something entirely new. He was facing Len, the left half of his face buried into the pillow, but Len knew that side was still uncovered. He could just barely see the bright red burn on his forehead and the first stitch of his left eye. It was… strange, knowing nothing was hiding his skin anymore. It would take some getting used to. 

Smiling, he reached out, letting his fingers play through Oliver’s hair.

He slept so soundly, his pillow stained with a small puddle of drool, a steady stream of air whistling through his mouth. His flaxen locks were tousled and tangled. Early morning sunlight streamed in through the curtains and caught the curl of his eyelashes, brought out the pink in his cheeks.

He was beautiful.

And… and naked. Very naked. (Unless he’d put his pants back on at some point in the night. Though Len didn’t quite care enough to check.)

 _That_ would take some getting used to as well.

Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have let Oliver sleep undisturbed a while longer. But he couldn’t help himself. He swept back his sleeping beauty’s bangs and kissed him.

He didn’t get to enjoy it for too long. As soon as he touched their lips together, Oliver began to stir, so Len quickly drew back, hoping that he hadn’t disturbed his sleep.

Instead, an eye peaked open, blinking heavily and slowly at him.

“...Morning,” Len said, not really sure what else to say. He had so much more he could have said, so much he _wanted_ to say, and he wanted to say those words all the days of his life. But Oliver looked as though he was still half-lost in the world of the slumbering, so he figured for the time being that those words could wait.

“Good morning,” Oliver replied. His voice was hoarse with sleep, barely above a whisper, but the smile he graced Len with was brighter than the sun outside their window. Len wanted nothing more than to bask in the sunshine of his smile, pull him close and kiss every inch of his face and whisper words of adoration and worship into his ear until that smile threatened to split his face.

Yet in the ensuing silence, he couldn’t bring himself to act on any of this, much less voice his desire to. He chose to say something more practical in the meantime.

“How’re you feelin’?”

Oliver glanced down and shifted his muscles, just enough to cause ripples in the sheets covering him, then he wrinkled his nose. “...Sore.”

Len winced. He’d feared as much.

Oliver hadn’t had any experience with… well, _anything_ prior to last night. (And while it had also been Len’s first time, he was at least well-versed in the art of using a hairbrush handle for something it was very much not intended.) So they’d taken it slow. Len kissed him and touched him and held him until he was relaxed, took extra time and care with him and made certain to go no faster than Oliver dictated and exhausted half a bottle of lube in the process.

Even then, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Oliver had pushed himself too much, too quickly. Len’s shoulders still stung a little from where Oliver had dug his fingernails in. Yet every time he’d offered to stop, Oliver would have none of it — “ _Just give me a minute,” “Just hold me for a bit,” “I’m fine, I’m fine, keep going”._

Maybe he should have stopped anyway, stubborn boyfriend be damned.

But before he could apologize, Oliver’s face lit back up, and his hands found Len’s face. “No, no, it’s a good sore!” he promised, bumping his nose to Len’s. “A very good sore. I rather like it, truth be told.”

Len grumbled. It wasn’t that he thought Oliver was lying to make him feel better, but, well, it wouldn’t have been the first time. And Oliver grumbled right back.

“Don’t grumble at me.”

Oliver’s smile dimmed to something almost humorless. He squinted.

“You don’t believe me.” But Oliver didn’t give Len time to confirm that, pulling Len’s head forward just enough for their lips to meet. His were dry, Len noticed, but soft as ever, his kiss drowsy but warming.

He barely had time to close his eyes before Oliver pulled back.

“I’d tell you if I was in any real pain.” He kept their noses pressed together, and so Len had nowhere to look but straight into the pool of gold ahead of him, hazy with sleep but filled to the brim with assurance. “I promise.”

Indeed, Len didn’t care to look anywhere but straight ahead. Oliver’s face was no longer partially obscured by the pillow. The scar of his left eye was fully visible now, grotesque yet uniquely lovely. 

Maybe it wouldn’t take as much getting used to as Len had anticipated.

He decided to let Oliver win the debate in exchange for another kiss. 

“Okay,” he said into the inch of space between them. He _did_ trust him. But that didn’t mean his worries were quelled entirely. Still, Oliver seemed content with the answer, and he pulled himself closer — he most certainly had _not_ put his pants back on, Len discovered — wrapping his arms around Len and nuzzling his forehead beneath his chin.

The absence of noise gave Len’s thoughts time to run amok.

He’d held him just like this when they’d finished, held him and caught his breath and wondered if he’d done alright, if Oliver had enjoyed it or not. He’d tried to convince himself Oliver’s shaking was a byproduct of bliss rather than pain, but even now, he wasn’t sure just how true that was. Part of him didn’t want to know.

So, basically, it was a typical first time, one filled with blunders and other anomalies that would have to be improved upon in the future. Len knew he should have expected as much, but maybe he’d been hoping theirs would be the exception.

Washing off afterwards was almost gratifying. The water laved away their sweat and other accumulated fluids, and somehow that made things feel more… well, normal, in a way. They shared quips about the water temperature and laughter over how hard it was to fit simultaneously beneath the stream. By the time Len shut the water off and sat Oliver on the washing stool, he’d forgotten all about his embarrassment and his assumed failure to make the night a good one.

Then, while he worked through the sudsy scalp before him, Oliver’s entire face flushed bright red. Len had assumed he was hurting. But no: it had only then hit him, he later explained, the fact that they really… well, “got serious,” as Oliver put it, and it had been all at once embarrassing and shocking and wonderful.

 _“I’m happy,”_ he had said, looking back and smiling such a bright, beautiful smile at Len. And Len felt then that maybe that night hadn’t gone so badly after all. Maybe it had even been a success.

He rinsed Oliver off and he covered him in kisses and he… he said something too, something he’d been wanting to say for a very long time.

In the present, that word pressed against his teeth, and he didn’t fight it.

“ _Aishiteru,_ ” he whispered against Oliver’s temple.

Oliver responded with a quiet snore.

Len huffed in mute laughter. He’d never met anyone who could fall asleep so quickly, and with so little warning.

The word had passed his lips for the first time as they’d held each other. Oliver had even whispered it back. It sounded so pure on his voice, but neither were quite in their right minds yet when it was said, and Oliver never returned his later _aishiteru_ s, merely laughed and let himself be victim to Len’s kisses.

...He wanted to hear it again.

But he’d woken Oliver up once already. He had time, he supposed, and he could just as easily try and draw the word from him later. In the meantime, he said it again, and again, and once more for good measure.

Yes. He would be saying that word a lot, he decided, until it turned sticky-sweet on his tongue with overbearing familiarity.

Oliver stirred again, just enough to nestle himself deeper beneath the covers. He mumbled something, though Len wasn’t sure if it was in Japanese or English or if he was just uttering sleepy nonsense.

It didn’t matter. He tucked the blanket over Oliver’s shoulders and then wriggled lower so that he was covered too, pressing another kiss to his forehead before closing his eyes and letting the warmth of sun and skin and sheets clear his mind.

He could most certainly get used to this.


	2. Hanabira

In Len’s defense, the initial idea had been a good one.

Oliver had been more than happy to go along with it. It would be a perfect way to kickstart a romantic evening: filling the darkened bathroom with gently fragrant candles, playing some soft music, and sharing a hot bath. Oliver was hardly able to focus at choir practice that day; when left to his own devices for more than a few seconds at a time, his mind went ahead to the night they had planned, and he lost himself in the thought of Len’s bare, wet skin against his, the mingling of water and sweat, the ways they’d keep each other warm when things inevitably moved away from the bath and into the bedroom.

Yes, it was going to be perfect.

But Len… his wonderful, loving, oh-so-amorous Len… decided that wasn’t romantic enough. So how did he opt to crank the romance factor up?

By dumping an entire trash bag’s worth of lavender petals into the bath.

Oliver cried out again, shaking his arms violently.

“They’re stuck to me!” he lamented, barely making himself heard above Len’s laughter. “It’s like flies or ticks crawling all over me!”

Not that they hadn’t tried to make the best of the bad decision. They had spent a few moments trying to ignore the abundant petals and lose themselves to each other’s presence, and when that failed, Len made the  _ brilliant _ suggestion of massaging the petals into each other’s skin, since lavender’s relaxing scent and added therapeutic benefits could surely help reset the mood.

The mood was not only dead, it had been trampled underfoot and buried deep into the ground, a field of lavenders planted on its grave.

Oliver was sure his lungs were going to collapse from the force of his laughter, and it grew more intense still when he tried to wipe away his tears and only succeeded in spreading the petals to his face.

“Here, lemme—” Len reached out to try and brush the petals away, but his hands were equally covered, and he only succeeded at furthering the damage.

Finally, recognizing a lost cause when he saw one, Len gave up and stood, forcing his laughter down so he could safely climb out of the tub before offering Oliver his hand.

Exiting the bathtub only made the problem worse. Now the purple menaces were stuck to every inch of him, from his lower chest to his feet. He snatched the towel Len gave him and set to work, starting with his midriff and working down.

The more petals came off, the easier Oliver was able to breathe. He wasn’t sure if he’d been laughing because of the absurdity of the situation or if it had been a panic response. After all, it really  _ had _ felt as though he’d been covered in swarming insects. Perhaps it was both.

By the time most of them were off, his skin felt raw from how hard he’d scrubbed at it. The air in the bathroom was stuffy and humid and made catching his breath that much more difficult, so he shook the last petals from his feet and opened the door and closed his eye as he savored the cool, dry air of their bedroom.

He stood there for a moment, letting his lungs get their fill and his heartbeat even back out, and he noticed then that there were still petals stuck to him: a few on the soles of his feet, a couple on his arms, and he could swear he felt one in his hair.

Oh well. Not much he could do about it. This was his life now. He would permanently be host to those tiny purple parasites.

“Ollie-kun? You okay?”

Oliver stumbled out of the doorway. He hadn’t even heard Len walk up to him. Len hadn’t fared much better than he had; his outer thighs and legs were still plastered in the petals he’d been so sure would elevate the evening.

He wasn’t laughing anymore. On the contrary, now he looked outright dejected. He was smiling, but even in the low light, his eyes betrayed his discontent.

Len didn’t suffer bouts of self-loathing nearly as often as Oliver did, but it did happen. It was happening now.

So Oliver stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. His skin was cold. “You know,” he said, plucking the single petal stuck to Len’s cheek, “I anticipated making a lot of noise tonight, getting all sweaty and sore and breathless. I just wasn’t expecting that to happen like this.”

This drew a half-hearted chuckle from Len, but his eyes dropped down, and he kept his hands to himself. “Yeah. Probably shoulda just stuck with rose petals.”

“Or what about some intact flowers? I think that would be nice. They’d be pretty, but they wouldn’t get stuck to us.”

“Mm.” Len sighed and shrugged Oliver’s hand away. “I, uh… I’m sorry for laughing. I thought you just thought it was funny, and I didn’t realize…”

Oh, so it  _ had _ just been a panic response. Truthfully, Oliver suspected as much, but... 

“No, no,” he assured, taking a step back. When Len was like this, touch only aggravated him, and Oliver had no intention of making this episode any worse. “Len-kun, I really did think it was funny. I don’t like being covered in tiny objects, but I thought it was hilarious.”

Len’s head stayed hung, but his eyes cut up to Oliver, and something like the beginnings of a smile played on his lips.

“...Would you still cuddle with me?” he asked, his hand cautiously reaching out to brush Oliver’s right arm. The petals stuck there had dried, and they fell stiffly to the floor. “Or should I go sleep outside with James?”

He kept his hand on Oliver’s arm, and the longer it stayed, the warmer the touch became. The same air that brought him relief moments earlier felt harsh now. It would take a lot more than Len’s palm on his arm to warm him back up.

Oliver wasn’t much good at playing coy, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Cuddle?” He stepped closer once more, tracing his index and middle fingers against the curve of Len’s jaw, commanding their eyes make contact. “Was that our plan? Get naked and wet together and then  _ cuddle? _ ”

The last remnants of self-pity melted from Len’s eyes as Oliver spoke, his icy irises growing a bit darker, a bit wider. Oliver smiled. There. Now they were getting back on the right track.

“I— I mean…” Len cleared his throat, but his voice was already starting to dip in pitch, and no amount of coughing could hide that. “The plan kinda went out the window when I dumped a shit-ton of tiny flower petals into the water, but…”

“But you thought it would make the night even better,” Oliver finished for him, fighting to keep his voice steady. Just a little longer, and Len would be able to take the reins once more. This was  _ not _ his area of expertise. “That’s the Len I love so much. He’ll do absurd things if he thinks it’ll make his Ollie-kun happy. He’s kind and selfless and perfection in every sense of the word.”

Len’s hand dropped from Oliver’s arm, found his hip instead, as did his other hand. He was there, Oliver knew, but what harm would an extra push be?

“You know,” he said, tipping Len’s head closer, their noses and foreheads pressed together, “your legs are still covered in lavender.” He let his hand fall from Len’s face, brought it lower, lower still, until his fingers brushed his thigh, just enough for Len to feel, but light enough to leave him wanting more. “If you lay down and spread them a bit, I’m sure we can take care of that.”

It was a miracle he’d been able to say so much without stuttering, but a flame crept into his skin now, entirely unrelated to any feeling of desire. But Len didn’t see the embarrassed blush. His grasp on Oliver’s hips tightened and he closed what little distance was left, and soon the air became just as hot as it had been in the bathroom.

The remaining petals would be a pain to scoop out and dispose of, and getting them gone completely would take hours of washing and laundering, but Oliver had little time to think about that in the tangle of lips and hands and bodies, so he supposed he didn’t really care.


	3. Confidence and Assertiveness

“I’m a fool. A fool in a man’s body.”

Len patted Oliver’s shoulder lightly, careful not to jostle his overworked body too hard. “Hey, you made a goal and you stuck with it! I’m proud of you.”

“What’s even worse is that I agreed to go with her again on Thursday.”

“That’s awesome! You’re gonna be buff in no time!”

Oliver just grunted, laying back on the bed and stretching his arms and legs as far as they would go.

It had come as a bit of a shock, Oliver’s New Year’s resolution: he wanted to start working out. Not so much to change his body (and, besides, a Vocaloid’s body couldn’t change much outside of a lab), but to build up both strength and confidence. Len was supportive, but, in all honesty, he wasn’t expecting him to go through with it, and he remained skeptical as the days went on and Oliver remained all talk and no action.

Today, January 12th, he’d finally tagged along to the gym with Gumi. And Gumi was hardcore when it came to working out. Oliver, in trying to keep up with her, had learned that the hard way.

“Just go at your own pace next time,” Len said as Oliver tensed and relaxed his muscles. “Pick a day when I’m off and I’ll go with you. I’ll make myself look like a total idiot to make you look better.”

Oliver smiled at this, sitting back up and rolling his shoulders. “Please don’t.”

“Whatever you say.”

Shoulders rolled to his liking, Oliver stretched his arms over his head, bending back a bit as he did so. “Maybe it was just worse since I didn’t sleep well last night. I had this dream, and it… kept me up. So maybe if I’m well-rested, next time will be better.”

A dream?

Some feeling like pity mixed with regret settled below Len’s rib cage. Yesterday had been exhausting (he and Rin had starred in yet another flashy music video), so the lights had gone out the moment his head hit the pillow, and when his alarm went off that morning, he was in the exact same position he’d fallen asleep in. He never once felt Oliver stirring about restlessly, as he often did when sleep wouldn’t come.

He felt guilty for that. If he’d woken up at some point, he could have brewed him some tea or given him a massage to help him sleep.

“Was it a nightmare?” He asked as Oliver stood and made his way to the opposite wall. “I’m sorry. You shoulda woken me up.”

Oliver just shook his head, bracing his hands against the wall and stretching his spine. The position pushed his hips out and made his shirt ride up and expose the dip of his lower back.

Partially to distract him from his own guilt, Len whistled. 

“Whoo!” he cheered. “Showin’ some skin! Sexy!”

Oliver choked on a sudden laugh, but he didn’t move from the position. “Control yourself,” he said over his shoulder, lips quivering with amusement. “Today was my first workout. I won’t be quite impressive for a while yet.”

Len smirked back. “You’ve always been impressive, baby.” The words drew a giggle from Oliver, so Len crossed one leg over the other and pressed a finger to his bottom lip, doing his best to draw on the seductive energy of Victor Nikiforov or something like that. “Keep going,” he rumbled in his best Deep Sexy Voice. “You know how much I love a show.”

Oliver muttered an _“Oh my God”_ and faced the wall again, at which point Len allowed himself to break character and laugh silently. That laughter grew harder to contain as Oliver lifted his shirt higher, doing a few more stretches in increasingly uncomfortable-looking positions, going along with Len’s game and sprinkling his every movement with over-the-top sexuality.

That workout really _had_ given him confidence. Even jokingly, he rarely made a display of himself like this.

“ _Yes!_ ” Len wished he had some bank notes on hand to throw. It would have really tied the whole scene together. “That’s my _man!_ What a sex bomb!”

Hilariously emboldened, Oliver gyrated awkwardly against the wall, giving his hair a dramatic flip (although his hair was too short for said flip to have much effect). “Like what you see? Then why don’t you come get some, big boy?”

As soon as the last words came out of his mouth, his face flushed red, beset with a look that screamed _I can’t believe I seriously just said that._ Len snorted, at which point Oliver abandoned their game and buried his face in his hands, shrinking into himself.

“That… didn't sound as awful in my head,” he mumbled into his palms.

He was still facing the wall, and the hem of his shirt was still sitting just above the subtle curves of his sides.

It was tempting. Entirely too tempting.

“Ollie-kun.” Len climbed off the bed slowly, positioning himself on his knees. “I don’t wanna alarm you, but don’t move.”

His little ploy worked just as planned. Oliver uncovered his face, but his feet remained glued to the ground, eye not moving from the wall in front of him. “Spider? Grasshopper? Cicada?”

“Spider,” Len said, inching forward. “Itty bitty thing. It’s on your pants. I’ll catch it and let it outside.”

Oliver played his unwitting part perfectly. When Len reached him a few seconds later, that exposed sliver of skin lined up perfectly with his mouth.

“Almost…” he whispered, hands ghosting over an imaginary arachnid. “And…”

And then he abandoned the act, grabbing Oliver’s hips and roughly kissing that patch of bare skin. As expected, Oliver squealed, lifting up onto the balls of his feet.

Len sat back on his heels and looked up, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“...Did you get the spider?” Oliver’s voice wavered and cracked. Len couldn’t see his face, but the tips of his ears were bright red.

“There _was_ no spider.”

"Oh _._ ”

Len laughed, squeezing the hips in his grasp. “You almost sound turned on.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “I… I am. I very much am.”

Len blinked.

Then he grinned.

“Oh?” He lifted Oliver’s shirt higher, and even that slight action was enough to draw a shiver from him. “Does it get worse when I do this?”

Another squeal broke free as Len orchestrated a full-on attack, giving way to giggles and gasps and groans as he worked his way up Oliver’s spine.

Most everyone has a weak spot, an area of skin that, when stimulated, reduces them to putty in the stimulator’s hands. For Oliver, that area was his back. By the time Len reached the base of his neck, his legs were trembling, and his laughter had been reduced mostly to gasping and panting.

Len let his shirt fall back into place, wrapping his arms around Oliver’s middle and peppering his neck with kisses. “You’re way too easy to tease,” he praised between the third and fourth kiss.

Oliver sighed, the heat in his cheeks strong enough for Len to feel. “I mean,” he said, his voice still unsteady, “I _did_ have that dream last night, so I suppose I’ve been a bit on edge since then.”

Len pulled back, stopped long enough for his words to sink in.

_I had this dream, and it kept me up._

...It hadn’t been a nightmare at all, had it?

“So.” Len kissed the shell of his ear, slipping his hands beneath his shirt to draw nonsense patterns into his stomach and chest. “Tell me a little bit about this dream. Must’a been pretty nice if it kept you up all night.”

Oliver made a noise that Len assumed was agreement. “I… I think we were home alone. There wasn’t anyone there that I remember. But, um…”

“Mmhm?” Len let his hands wander higher, dragging the pads of his fingers outward, just barely brushing over Oliver’s nipples. He was a trooper. Even through the touches that brought him more frustration than pleasure, he soldiered on. 

“I, uh… _oh_ … I walked into the kitchen, and, um, you were… you...” He moaned, pressing his forehead against the wall. “Len, please touch me.” The request was breathless, almost whimpered.

Len hooked his thumbs into the elastic of Oliver’s sweatpants and eased them down his hips, but he kept his hands planted firmly there, unmoving. “Tell me more about that dream first. I wanna know where this is going.”

This earned an impatient _huff_ from Oliver. “You were making something. Cupcakes or something, I don’t know. And you were… you were wearing an apron.”

“And?”

“And that was _all_ you were wearing.”

Len all but choked in humored surprise. While he was sure it was much more subdued in Oliver’s mind, he couldn’t help but imagine himself in a frilly, girly apron, prancing around and wiggling his ass in an over-the-top attempt at being cute and seductive. It didn’t sound particularly appealing.

Still, he fulfilled his end of the promise and gave Oliver what he wanted. Oliver sighed in contentment, leaning his back into Len’s chest and nudging his hips forward into his grasp.

“Mm.” Len pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That really _did_ get you worked up, huh?”

Oliver nodded slowly, snaking his arms up and back to wrap around Len’s neck. 

“So? What happened after that?” Len took a moment to let go and run his fingertips lightly over Oliver’s shaft, earning another pleased moan. “Did you bend me over the counter and have your way with me?”

Oliver chuckled and nuzzled his cheek against Len’s. “Don’t I wish. I figured out it was a dream and woke up before I could do anything.”

“What made you realize it?”

“The oven was on, you were making something, and the house hadn’t burned down. It was pretty obvious.”

“...You really wanna insult me and my cooking skills while I’ve got my hand wrapped around your dick?”

“You wouldn’t dare. You need it attached to me more than I do.”

“Y’got me there.” Now he kissed the corner of Oliver’s lips. “But if it was such a short dream, how did it keep you up all night?”

Oliver chuckled again, but this time with less gusto. “What kept me up…” He exhaled deeply through his nostrils, leaning so fully against Len that he had to readjust his stance to support the extra weight. “I mean, I had to fill in the blanks myself. So I… I thought about… about all the things I’d do to you in that scenario… And…”

“Tell me.” Len leaned forward so that most of Oliver’s weight was back on his own feet, stroking faster once he was situated. “Tell me what you’d do to me, Oliver.”

But Oliver didn’t say anything else. He let go of Len’s neck and braced himself against the wall, panting heavily, hips moving in time with Len’s hand. He hadn’t been joking about being on edge. Already Len’s palm was slick with precome, and Oliver’s whole body twitched and shuddered, on the verge of climax after what could have only been three or four minutes.

Len licked his lips. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. Not so soon.

So he let go.

He waited a moment before stepping back, just to make certain that Oliver was able to support himself.

“Len…?” He sounded so frail, so _desperate._ Len had to take another step back to stop himself from giving in.

He scrambled his head for excuses and smirked when he found one.

“I’m over here giving you a handjob out of the kindness of my heart, and then you turn around and tell me my cooking sucks.” He backed up further until the backs of his knees bumped into the bed, wiping his hand against his shorts. “I told you that was a bad idea.”

“I— I was so close!” Oliver looked over his shoulder, his face still brightly flushed, pupil still wide with desire. “You can’t just—”

“Can and I wi~ll,” Len sing-songed back. Just a bit more of this, he decided, and then he’d cut it out and give Oliver what he wanted. In the meantime, he headed for the bathroom, making some excuse about needing to pee. He’d spend a minute or two with his ear to the door and make more excuses in response to Oliver’s pleas. Once he’d had his fill, he’d go above and beyond to make up for it.

“K… Ka…”

Len was just about to shut the door behind him when Oliver finally snapped.

“Kagamine Len, you get back here and finish me off _right now!_ ”

Len froze mid-step, feeling for all the world as if he’d just been struck by lightning.

Oliver had never been so… authoritative. Desperation was still thick in his voice, but it was far more a command than a plea. And Len wasn’t sure why it made his head feel so fuzzy and his body so hot, but… it did.

His brain, still on autopilot, came up with the worst response possible.

“Make me.”

He barely had time to turn around before Oliver reached him, grabbing him by his arms, dragging him over to their bed. He wasn’t sure if he was thrown onto the mattress or if his legs just gave out, but whatever the case, he was barely given time to pull the rest of his body up before Oliver was straddling him, kissing him feverishly, pinning his wrists above his head.

Had he always been this strong? The grip he held Len in was unrelenting, and Len couldn’t have broken free even if he’d wanted to. (Either that or his strength had just abandoned him completely. Either was likely, really.)

Oliver pulled back and began grinding against Len’s lap, his grasp tightening. He’d kicked his sweatpants off at some point, and so only two layers of fabric separated them, and both of those layers were quickly becoming far too tight for Len to bear. His eyes rolled back. Unconsciously, his hips bucked, and he tried in vain to yank his hands free, eager to get his pants and boxers off.

Unrelenting. Oliver was absolutely unrelenting. He still wouldn’t let Len have his way, instead commanding his attention while he worked. Len could have melted right into the sheets at the sight. Above him, Oliver’s forehead was beaded with sweat, his lips parted as he drew in each breath, his eye so darkened with unfulfilled need that it looked almost copper in hue.

This was an Oliver that Len had never seen.

And he liked this Oliver very much.

“ _Finish,_ ” Oliver ordered, letting go of Len’s wrists at long last. He wasted no time. As soon as the last two layers separating them were off and discarded, he took himself and Oliver into one hand and lost himself to the ecstasy and relief and bliss that flooded through them both.

The high subsided, and Len felt suddenly that he was made of lead. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Oliver was collapsed on top of him, too.

For a few moments, he couldn’t do much more than gasp for air (also not helped by Oliver being collapsed on top of him), his head spinning, his ears ringing. 

That was… intense.

He laughed breathlessly, holding onto Oliver and tilting onto his side so he could breathe better.

“Don’t laugh,” Oliver muttered, and that commanding authoritarianism was gone from his voice. He let Len cling to him, but he hid his face in Len’s neck, and Len could feel that he was blushing.

“That was awesome,” he said. 

Oliver whined. “That was humiliating.”

“What?” Len ran a thumb over the curve of Oliver’s ear, trying to coax him to look up. “I thought it was hot!”

“I don’t know what came over me. I just…” Oliver made another whine-like noise, burying his face deeper into Len’s skin. “...suddenly got really _mrrrrmph_ and then I just _mmrrrrrgh…_ ”

A thought occurred to Len, and he chuckled at it. “It was that workout session. It gave you so much confidence you just didn’t know what to do with it.”

That prompted Oliver to look up, and he didn’t look anywhere near as assured as he had earlier. “That wasn’t confidence. That was a full-on power trip.”

“Well _I_ liked it.” Len kissed the tip of Oliver’s nose. “I wouldn’t mind doing stuff like this more often.”

Oliver moaned in embarrassment, but he at least smiled.

“In fact,” Len went on, “you really _should_ wake me up the next time you have a wet dream. I’ll help you get a little late-night exercise in.”

Oliver’s smile dropped into an unamused pout.

“‘Course, I guess you took care of that yourself last night. Gave yourself a little pre-exercise warm up.”

The pout gave way to a full-faced blush.

“Just give me your shirt,” he said, sitting up and pulling his own shirt over his head.

Len laughed. If Oliver thought the teasing was over just because the excitement was over, he was sorely mistaken.

“Oh, Round Two already? That workout gave you confidence _and_ stamina!”

“Your shirt has come on it and I need to launder it before it dries.”

“No need to be so humble! I just need a little longer to recover, that’s all.”

Oliver snatched Len’s shirt from him and folded it, ruined side inward, shaking his head as he placed it in the hamper with his shirt. Even then, the twitch of his lips gave his amusement away.

“Ollie-kuuuuuun,” Len called while Oliver pulled some fresh clothes on, “you never _did_ tell me what all you imagined doing to me last night.”

Picking the hamper up, Oliver responded as he walked to the door, never once looking Len’s way.

“Something much like what we just did,” he said, propping the door open with his foot as he slid out. “But a little more involved.”

The door shut behind him.

Len watched the door a moment longer before laying back, sighing blissfully. Involved, huh? He could already imagine it: Oliver pining his wrists and fucking him mercilessly, biting his neck, smacking his ass, a well-deserved payback for all his teasing. An aggressive, dominant Oliver taking him in every way possible.

Yes, he _very_ much liked that thought.

He already felt that familiar ache creep into his stomach. Lest it overcome him completely, he reluctantly rolled out of bed to get some clothes on.

Wherever that side of Oliver had come from — whether it had always been there, waiting to come forth, or if he’d just discovered it that day — Len sincerely hoped he’d see it again soon.


	4. Another Try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I posted this about... two days ago? But it was 3 in the morning and I was half-drunk so it was riddled with errors and inconsistencies, so I pulled it to fix it up. Here's hoping it's more coherent this time around!)
> 
> This was born from the same cluster of ideas the previous chapter was born from; I got stuck on this one but finished the other, so I published it and shelved this one. Going through another writer's block, I revisited a few shelved chapters and was able to save this one from the void. Whoo!
> 
> That said, if this chapter feels a little too similar to the previous one in spots, that's why. Forgive me.

If Heaven could exist on Earth, perhaps this was it.

Oliver couldn’t really call himself a stranger to Len’s touch. His hands had warmed him before, that first night they’d gone all the way. But it was never quite enough. Len had been hesitant, his touch far too soft, as though fearful of going too far, and so all it did was leave him desperate yet unsatisfied.

But this? This could go on for hours and hours, and Oliver would be more than happy.

“Feel okay?” Len asked against the shell of his ear. Oliver nodded, nudging his hips into the touch. It felt beyond okay. Amazing. Perfect.

Len kissed his ear, kissed it again, made a slow trail to the corner of his lips. Oliver turned his head and couldn’t stop a soft moan from escaping when their lips finally met. And Len — oh, Len, he mimicked that sound, and the tip of his tongue traced over Oliver’s lower lip. Oliver was more than happy to comply, letting his mouth part and meeting Len’s tongue with his own.

He whimpered when Len pulled away, but was satiated with a few quick but soft kisses.

“ _Oliver,_ ” Len breathed between those kisses. “ _Beautiful,_ ” kiss, “ _wonderful,_ ” kiss, “ _flawless Oliver._ ” He whispered something else, though Oliver didn’t quite catch it before Len coaxed his lips apart once more, and then there was truly no hope for coherent thought.

There was an undeniable lightness to Len’s actions, yet he was resolute, assured. Every bit of what he did was backed with purpose. It made Oliver’s head spin, made him ache down to his very core. He couldn’t breathe. He didn't _want_ to breathe. He wanted to be suspended in this moment forever, floating endlessly.

But the hot friction of Len’s hand, the gentle slickness of his tongue, the whispered words of adoration — it was too much. He barely noticed his toes twitching and his limbs tensing until his whole body was already overtaken.

He threw his head back, eye going blankly to the ceiling for a moment, vision turned white by the heat that coursed through his veins. Then he bucked forward again just as suddenly and clung tightly to him in an effort to still himself. Len held him steady with one hand and continued to stroke with the other, soft praises spilling from his lips like an incantation, the sweetest and most enticing spell that had ever graced Oliver’s ears.

It was over far sooner than he would have liked. The surge of intensity that left him violently shuddering subsided, oxygen once more flowed semi-reliably into his lungs, and he was left with a ringing in his ears and the acute awareness of how sweaty he was, his shirt all but glued to his back.

To make matters worse, the praises stopped as well. Then Len had the audacity to let go and leave him exposed to the elements. (Though he was also just slightly grateful, as the sensitivity had reached the precipice of being unbearable.) Still, he whined at the lost touch, only to be placated by a different touch: Len wrapped his newly freed arm around Oliver’s waist and combed the fingers of his dry hand through his hair, kissing the top of his head as he did so.

For that moment, Oliver didn’t care that he was uncomfortable and hot and unable to take in enough air with his face pressed firmly into the fabric of Len's shirt. The discomfort was drowned out by a sort of drowsy glow. He would have traded the world away to remain in that glow with Len’s fingers in his hair, sweat-soaked shirt be damned.

“You okay?” Len asked, his voice cutting through the fog in Oliver’s mind. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Do I not seem okay enough?” he murmured into Len’s shirt. He smiled at the responding hum, which vibrated deeply within his chest.

“Just wanted to make sure.” Len pressed another kiss to the part in his hair. “Can’t be too careful, since, y’know, last time I kinda…”

Darkness crept into the safe haven of Oliver’s afterglow, a deep-seated irritation. He was _still_ holding onto that? “Len,” he grumbled, gathering a fistful of his shirt, “you never hurt me. Get that out of your head, _please._ ”

Len just made an ambiguous kind of noise, which Oliver supposed was better than outright lying for his sake, but not by much.

It had been nearly two weeks since their first time. And it had been... well, a first. Of course it hadn't been perfect. But in spite of that, Len did everything Oliver could have asked for, and a lot he’d never even considered: simple yet thoughtful gestures that proved effective at easing his nerves and relieving the initial discomfort.

Discomfort. Yes, that was a better word for it. There’d been a bit of pain, every now and then, but the sensations were more uncomfortable than anything. And not even uncomfortable so much as just… strange. Unfamiliar.

Len had never hurt him. But trying to get that notion through the git’s head would take days, if not weeks, so he turned back to the initial question.

“Just assume that if I… ruin your shirt,” he noted regretfully, looking down for the first time, “that means I’m very much okay.”

Len looked down, too, but he didn't seem too perturbed.

In a few smooth movements, the shirt was discarded onto the floor, Oliver’s own shirt was lifted over his head and tossed to the same patch of hardwood, then he was in Len’s arms, being pulled atop him on the mattress.

Still dizzy from his climax, the sudden action made his head spin so quickly he became nauseous; to combat it, he closed his eye, resting an ear against Len’s chest. His heartbeat was steady. Strong. Somehow, it helped settle his stomach. The disorienting patterns on the back of his eyelid settled, and he relaxed fully at last.

One of Len’s hands came to rest on his back, comfortably heavy. The other continued to comb through his hair.

Oliver smiled and hummed happily. It was still so strange, being naked around someone else. Being _held_ by someone while naked, even if that someone was Len. The arms around him somehow felt different without any fabric in the way. Part of him wanted to request a stay of cuddling, at least one long enough to permit him to redress. But that part of him was small and quiet and he didn’t pay it too much mind.

In return for Len’s attention, he let his fingers trace over Len’s chest, then down just a bit lower. He was very lightly muscled, with toned arms and something resembling a two-pack. Oliver had always found his body lovely, attractive, certainly; as he didn’t much care for sleeping with a shirt, Oliver was familiar with that half of him at least. Though, for propriety’s sake, he hadn’t indulged himself too extensively before then.

Propriety is reliably thrown to the wind after being masturbated by another’s hand, however, so now Oliver indulged to his heart’s content.

“Ollie-kun.”

“Mm?”

“You make the cutest noises when you come.”

Not entirely voluntarily, Oliver squeaked, eye snapping open, tranquility compromised.

“Yeah, exactly like that!”

Len’s laughter was light and sweet, but it did nothing to quell the heat of embarrassment that washed over Oliver. “ _Leeeeeeeeen,_ ” he whined.

“I mean, not _exactly_ like that,” Len clarified. “But that _was_ adorable.”

Oliver kept his face pressed into the center of Len's chest, cursing his easy shamelessness... but damn it all, now he was too curious to dismiss the quip.

“Wh… what noises did I make?” he ventured.

He felt Len shrug. “Kinda like… Like, it wasn’t really overblown, but you were panting so hard that you kept making little whining noises and…”

Another such whine escaped Oliver, though it might have been a liiiiitle more deliberate.

“Yeah. Like that.”

A contented chuckle bounced in Len’s chest, and Oliver returned it, the two finally trailing into another comfortable silence.

...Awkward though it was, their first time hadn’t been bad by any stretch of the imagination. But this? This was perfect. No ceremony, no nervous uncertainty. No fear, no worrying about pain or hurt or anything of the sort. Two weeks from now, Len wouldn't be fretting over this particular session and all the mistakes he might have made and whether or not Oliver had enjoyed it, and that was a nice thought.

Maybe, by the time they built up the nerve to go all the way again...

Oliver pressed his lips together.

“Hey, Len?”

“Mm-hm?”

“Did I make those noises the first time, too?”

The fingers that had long-since removed every tangle from his hair stilled, and Len’s heartbeat stuttered, quickened.

“...Yeah. You did, I think.”

Oliver continued tracing lazy patterns into Len’s skin and left it at that.


	5. [s e N] [n u: d z]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When entering the phrase "Send Nudes" into Vocaloid, the average English Vocaloid voicebank, including Oliver (who I tested this on for the sake of accuracy), will render it as [s e n d] [n u: d z], but editing the phonemes and replacing [n d] with [N] makes it sound a little bit more natural, makes it flow a bit more smoothly. The more you know～
> 
> (On that note, I created a track to test this out on the cover I'm currently working on since it was more convenient than making a new file and losing my spot, and then I forgot to delete it, leading to Oliver randomly shouting "🎶SEND NUDES🎶" in the middle of an otherwise touching, heartwarming duet between Miku and Rin. I'm half-tempted to just leave it in.)

O: _I’m glad the dress rehearsal went so well! Sounds like an exciting day_ _  
_ _Did you get time to sneak off and do your own thing for a while?_

L: _Yeah. Rin and I bolted as soon as they stopped drilling us_  
_We ran around and took pictures of all the trees_ _  
They’re already changing here too, even though it’s a lot warmer than Kyokotta_

O: _How exciting! I’d love to see them_ 😍

Len had anticipated as much. Oliver deeply loved the changing of seasons. England didn’t really have seasons, he’d explained, at least not where he came from; Hokkaido’s weather was comparable, but milder, and with clear transitions through the months. The transitions into fall and spring were Oliver’s favorites. Fall was already arriving back home, but it rarely reached Tokyo by the time Magical Mirai rolled around, so he’d documented it well to show Oliver.

Oliver, upon being told as much, was delighted.

O: _Send me the pictures, then!_ _  
_ _Break is almost over so I’ll check them as soon as practice ends_

L: _10-4. I’ll send you the best of the best_

“Practice? Don’t tell me he’s got choir this late.”

Len tilted his phone in the opposite direction of Rin’s prying eyes, though he didn’t suppose there was anything he didn’t want her seeing. “They’ve got that contest coming up, remember? So now they’re practicing on Wednesday and Thursday nights.”

“In addition to their usual hours?” Miku, who was sprawled out on Rin’s hotel bed with the twins, seemed genuinely bothered by that notion. “Don’t a lot of people in the local choirs have school and jobs? It seems so inconvenient.”

Before Len could throw in his two cents, his phone buzzed, and the girls huddled around his phone as he opened the text.

O: _No need to discriminate. I want to see everything_ _  
_ _And I do mean everything_

While he drafted up an affirmative, Rin made something like a choking noise. “What’s with that last one? That’s like something you’d say when you’re trying to get someone to send you a nude.” She nudged Len in the ribs. “What were you guys talking about before I started reading?”

Len just rolled his eyes. They hadn’t talked about _anything,_ at least not anything like that. He’d just specified that he’d taken so many pictures that they mostly consisted of repeats, and Oliver, with his eye for detail, wanted all of them anyway.

Not that he didn’t agree with Rin. He _had_ worded it a bit strangely. But fluent though he’d become, Japanese was still Oliver’s second language, and he still arranged words oddly from time to time.

“I mean,” Rin continued, sitting up against Miku, “he sounds like Miku-chan when we were picking out swimsuits back at the beginning of summer.”

Her words lit a fire of shock in Miku’s face, and already Len knew he was about to witness a disaster.

“I was like ‘Hey Miku, check this out!’ and she was like ‘It covers up a lot’ and I was like ‘What, you wanna see more?’ and she said—”

“R-Rin-chan, please—”

“She said, ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t mind seeing _everything._ ’ So we made sure no one was in the other changing stalls and—”

“Rin,” Miku mumbled, her face already matching the changing trees, gently tugging at Rin’s shirt, “Rin-chan, please, my dignity…”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Rin leaned her head coyly against Miku’s shoulder, winking up at her. “Len and I overshare all the time. You don’t mind hearing about this, right, Len?”

“This isn’t about Len!” Miku all but squeaked, doing her best to avoid looking at either twin. “This is about me!”

“Aww, babe, are you getting worked up? We could convince Luka to swap with me and room with Len so we could have someplace all to ourselves, if you want～”

“Riiiiiiiiiiin…!”

Realizing there was no saving either of them, Len looked back to his phone, his eyes going to that fated text.

_Show you everything, huh?_

He bit the inside of his cheek.

He shouldn’t. But the idea had been planted in his head, and all this teasing between the girls was making that idea take bloom, and...

...This was a good time for a shower.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go wash up,” he said, standing and pocketing his phone, trying his best not to grin.

“Okay.” Rin saluted him as he walked toward the bathroom door. “Looks like Miku-chan and I are gonna have sex while you’re at it.”

“Just don’t do it on my bed. Otherwise, you two have fun.”

Miku came out of her red-faced stupor and began stuttering denials (that were suspiciously free of any objections) as Len closed the door behind him.

Dutifully, Len prepared the images Oliver requested, shot after shot of the trees in one of Tokyo’s parks, still mostly green but with the beginnings of autumn reds and golds. His phone could send ten pictures at a time, and he’d taken thirty-nine pictures; he sent the most mundane thirty in three sets.

The nine most handsome shots he saved for last, but he didn’t hit _Send_ just yet. No, the tenth picture he waited to snap until his clothes were off and he’d stood beneath the hot water long enough for his body to respond. Shutting off the shower and drying his hands, he angled himself in front of the mirror so that his tattoo was hidden (juuuuuust in case), but everything else was in plain view.

Then he puckered his lips and winked for the camera, just to tie it all together.

_Send message._

Oliver was going to kill him.

 _Worth it,_ he decided, returning to his shower.

~~~

 **💝オリくん💝** **  
** _New message_

Pressing his lips together tightly, Len opened the message.

The reaction was exactly what he’d expected.

O: _KAGAMINE LEN_ _  
_ _WHAT IN THE HELL WAS THAT_

L: _The tree pictures, as you requested, my love._

Eight-hundred kilometers away, Len swore he could hear Oliver’s exasperated sigh.

L: _Oh, you mean that last one?_ _  
_ _That was me in all my nude glory_

O: _Yes, I saw that_  
_And the entire choir almost did, too_ _  
DID IT SLIP YOUR MIND THAT I’M IN PUBLIC, LEN_

Shit. He’d said he would open them after practice, so Len assumed he would be alone when he finally saw the pictures. Maybe this really _was_ a bad idea.

L: _But no one saw it, right?_

O: _Mercifully._ _  
_ _But it nearly gave me a heart attack_

That at least alleviated some of the guilt. Better than nothing.

L: _Then relax and save it for tonight_ 😘

O: _I’ve already deleted it. Not your best shot_ 😘😘😘😘😘

Oh, _that_ was harsh. A laugh bubbled in his chest, and he let himself voice it, quietly enough not to be heard from the room. His poor Ollie-kun was a saint for putting up with him. Still, he was satisfied with the reaction he’d received (and the knowledge that, in spite of his poor timing, neither of them had lost face), so he finally offered an apology before drying off and throwing his pajama pants on.

His efforts to remain quiet didn’t matter after all, he realized when he emerged from the bathroom. Miku made a show of untangling herself from Rin, but that didn’t hide the pink lip gloss smeared on both of their faces and necks and collarbones, or the fact that they were stripped down to their underwear.

Welp. At least they weren’t in his bed.

“W-we didn’t have sex!” Miku insisted, frantically shoving Rin’s shirt at her and urging her to cover back up.

“But we were _about_ to before you barged in, Mr. Snatch-Latch.”

“ _Rin-chan shush!_ ”

~~~

Len was in the process of dozing off when his phone buzzed.

 **💝オリくん💝** **  
** _New message_

He blinked away the sleep that had accumulated in the corners of his eyes and sat up. A text at this hour was no surprise. Oliver got anxious when he and Len were separated (and, okay, maybe Len did too). Last night, they’d made exchanges until one in the morning, talking about nothing in particular until Oliver was able to get some rest.

The second night was usually easier on him, but sometimes he needed extra consoling. Len began formulating topics to ramble on about together before he even unplugged his phone from its charger.

But what he saw when he opened the phone wasn’t a text. It was a picture.

A very… provocative picture.

He blinked again, just in case his grogginess was deceiving him.

It was not. Oliver, in this image, was sitting on their bathroom counter, holding his phone over his shoulder so that the camera captured the reflection of his back in the mirror. The two-inch gap between the counter top and the base of the mirror meant he didn’t get to see everything, but Oliver was shirtless, and Len saw just enough backside to know he wasn’t wearing anything from the waist down, either.

He didn’t realize he was staring until his phone buzzed again, jolting him from his focus.

O: _If you’re going to send a nude, at least make it tasteful or semi-artistic. Something like this_  
_After all, I get to see you dispassionately naked plenty enough_ _  
The goal is to tantalize, is it not?_

Tantalize that image certainly did. Admiring it a moment longer, Len smirked. 

That was the game he wanted to play, huh? Challenge accepted.

Already shirtless, he slipped his pants and boxers down to his knees (and threw several glances to the other side of the room — if Rin woke up and saw this, she would _not_ let him live it down, even after this evening’s incident), then pulled the sheets down just below his hips. That was “tantalizing” enough, right? Enough to give a taste but not give everything away. He spread his legs just a bit, rested his free palm on his left thigh through the sheet, and snapped the picture.

Actually, he was pretty proud of it. This selfie conveyed something like long-distance desire. _I’m in bed nearly a thousand kilometers away, and all I can think about is you._ At least that was the narrative his mind came up with.

L: _Like this?_

He had already pulled his pants back up, resettling himself under the thin comforter, when he got the reply.

O: 🤩🤩🤩 _  
__Don’t be afraid to show some more skin. Like this_

The next image came through just as he finished reading the last text.

Oliver was mimicking his pose beneath their navy blue sheets, but with a few key differences. One leg stuck out from beneath the cover, and he rested more heavily to his side, giving Len a good view of his right buttocks and the dip of his pelvis.

Well, wasn’t he feeling brave tonight. If the first image had drawn feelings of appreciation from Len, this one made him feel warm all over, and not the fuzzy kind of warm either.

Unable to help himself, he zoomed in. It wasn’t obvious until he did, but the thin fabric covering Oliver’s other leg was drawn with just the slightest amount of tension; it wasn’t enough to give away a full outline, but Len could tell that he was really getting into their little exchange.

Len was, too, and rapidly. He couldn’t resist slipping a hand beneath his pants and palming the front of his boxers, committing every detail of that image to memory. God, Oliver was gorgeous. What he wouldn’t give to be there with him now, caressing his soft skin, kissing him until they were dizzy and breathless, spreading him open and drawing lovely noises from his throat...

O: _Is everything alright?_

Crap. How long had he gone without responding? According to the time stamp, it had only been three minutes, give or take, but that was plenty enough time for Oliver to worry and double-guess himself.

 _Beyond alright,_ he drafted before opening his camera up again. Casting another cautious glance, he pulled his pants back down and recreated his original pose, not bothering with the blanket this time.

He _had_ been encouraged to show more skin, right?

O: _My, someone’s excited._

L: _You know what you do to me baby_ 😉

O: _Well, I’m glad the feeling’s mutual..._

This last text was paired with yet another picture. Oliver’s thighs were pressed together, almost shyly, and the fingers of his left hand rested lightly over his cock, rigid and woefully unattended.

Len gulped.

With one more glance — Rin had shifted and was laying on her stomach now — he yanked his pants back up and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door as silently as possible before turning on the lights and shimmying his pants down to his ankles. There was no way he was willing to risk getting caught this far in.

L: _I’m thinking about catching the next flight to Sapporo_  
_I can be in Kyokotta by three_ _  
That’ll give me enough time to suck you dry and get back to Tokyo in time for the first show_

At this point, Len wasn’t even sure if he was joking. He felt like a criminal for being so far away, unable to attend to the love of his life’s most basic need. Nothing sounded better right now than tasting Oliver’s skin and sweat, having Oliver’s fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him closer, pushing in deeper. God, he wanted that more than anything.

Meiko would be in charge of telling the concert manager that one of their stars had hopped a plane to suck a dick and would miss the tech rehearsal because of it. She wouldn’t even omit that detail. That thought was the only thing stopping him.

Still, he let himself entertain the thought while waiting for a response, and he entertained it well.

He wished he could see Oliver’s face in that picture. Was he blushing and averting his eye? Smirking deviously, fully aware of the effect he had on Len? He was a lot more brave when he was turned on, and on those nights he chose to act on that courage, Len was putty in his hands.

Ooh. Oliver’s hands, soft and warm and providing a friction far more glorious than what Len was currently providing himself. That sounded nice, too.

He was almost frustrated when Oliver’s response came through, because the notification blocked the picture he’d been so intensely focused on.

O: _Your turn_

Len didn’t hesitate. He abandoned the task at hand and kicked his pants all the way off, laying a towel down by the bathtub to protect himself from the cold tiles. He’d become lost to his fantasies, fantasies of servicing and being serviced in every way possible, fantasies of Oliver having those fantasies as well, and just keeping his hands off of himself long enough to get a good picture was torture.

It wasn’t artsy so much as outright pornographic. He hadn’t really bothered coming up with a cute pose or anything like that, opting instead to just lay himself bare, soft red and dripping precome. But the sooner he sent something in, the sooner he’d get something back, and the further this game could progress.

L: _Too dispassionate?_

O: _Absolutely perfect_ _  
_ _Words can’t describe how badly I want you buried deep inside of me_

Just as his fantasies shifted to that particular scenario, and just before he gave himself completely to it, Len received one more text to top it off.

O: _But for now I guess this will have to do_

Another picture.

Oliver was— he was back in their bathroom, back to the mirror, and he stood on his knees on the counter top so Len could see everything— his skin was flushed and covered in a light sheen of sweat and his inner thighs were slicked and he was— he was wearing a— wearing a—

O: _Too dispassionate?_ 😉

Len’s thumb moved automatically across the screen, and his mind didn’t catch up until the phone was already at his ear.

Oliver picked up in the middle of the first ring.

“Oliver,” Len said, but it came out as more of a gasp, husky and crackling.

“ _Len,_ ” Oliver replied, sounding every bit as unraveled, and for the next six minutes and thirty-two seconds, they didn’t say much of anything else.

~~~

The phone call lasted a total of twenty-eight minutes and fifteen seconds, most of which was spent whispering warm words of affection as they each laid in a puddle of their own fluids on opposite ends of Japan. Eventually, Len ran some hot water in an effort to save the towel he’d ruined and cleaned himself off while he was at it, Oliver doing the same from Kyokotta, the two giggling and whispering all the while.

By the time Len was dry and his pants were back on and he kissed Oliver goodnight as well as he could from so far away, he felt like he was floating. He savored the fresh, hotel-air-conditioner-scented air beyond the bathroom and fell back against his bed, a blissful sigh slipping his lips.

Now he really missed Oliver. His limbs felt too heavy to bother seeking out another pillow to cuddle with, though, so he just smiled and sunk into the comforter and let himself float a while longer.

“You guys have fun?”

Len’s eyes snapped open.

“You know,” Rin continued, her voice laced with sleep and amusement, “when Miku-chan and I got hot and heavy earlier, we at least _tried_ to be quiet. I’m pretty sure the whole damn hotel heard whatever happened in there.”

“N-nothing happened!” Len attempted, as if his words alone could make Rin un-hear the unmistakable sounds of a person violently masturbating. “He, uh, he was just saying he, y’know, liked the, ah… tree pics. Thought they were nice.”

“I didn’t realize you guys thought trees were _that_ exciting.”

Len just groaned, turning onto his side away from her and burying his face into his hands. Great. This was just great. He wasn’t as shameless as his twin, so this would haunt him for a long time to come. So much for a perfect ending to a perfect night.

His phone buzzed.

“Good Lord,” Rin grumbled. “If you guys are gonna go for another round, could you at least keep it down a little more this time?”

Len didn’t bother giving her an answer. He just rolled over to retrieve his phone from the nightstand.

The two texts he was met with made his face grow hot, then he smiled, his humiliation all but forgotten.

 **💝オリくん💝** **  
**_New message_  
  
_Please delete everything I’ve sent you tonight.  
__We can treat each other to a proper performance when you get home._


	6. An Attempt is Made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends. It's been a long, arduous journey. But today is a day of celebration. It only took six chapters, but they actually fuck in this one. This is a momentous occasion, not just for me, but... well, actually, yeah. Just for me. ＾＾’

Len was so lovely when he was like this.

He had the slightest bulb in his throat, not quite pronounced enough to be called a proper Adam’s apple, but it bounced as he panted and gulped for air. His golden hair, drenched at the roots with sweat, was loose and splayed across the pillow, and the hand that wasn’t servicing himself rested on Oliver’s upper arm, clawing gently.

Oliver tried not to think about how good it felt, the slick of Len’s heat encompassing him and the drag of nails over flushed skin. He couldn’t afford that. 

So instead, he continued to focus, continued to pore over the details of his beloved. Unshed tears clung to Len’s lashes like morning dew — _good tears, overwhelmed with ecstasy tears, hopefully_ — and as Oliver watched, he gasped, his closed eyes shutting tighter, his head tilting back. His legs, already wound around Oliver’s waist, pulled him closer, kept him trapped, and a few nonsense words passed his lips in a whisper, something like “ _So… ‘kiso… ik’sou…_ ”.

No, it wasn’t nonsense at all. Oliver realized what he was saying, realized just how intensely concentrated he was, how rapidly his right hand worked, how frantically his hips moved to meet him. He was— he was there.

All of a sudden, Oliver felt lightheaded.

**_STOP STOP STOP_ **his last few functioning brain cells screamed at him, but it felt so wonderful and fluttery, he couldn’t stop, not now, not now, not now, not—

It overcame him all at once, and he knew he was alone in that feeling. In a desperate last-ditch effort to regain control, he bucked back out of the tangle of legs, out of the inviting warmth. All he succeeded in doing was painting Len’s abdomen white.

Not that he got to enjoy it. He felt nothing but pure, unadulterated frustration, sitting in his gut like a cannonball.

_Dammit. Dammit. Dammit._ The profanity went around and around in his head, even as the post-climactic dizziness made him collapse to the bed beside a still-unspent Len. He stared hard at the ceiling and panted for breath and cursed himself endlessly.

Three times. Three times he’d tried, and three times he’d failed. If he couldn’t get it right after three tries, he never would.

He felt the mattress shift as Len reached for the hand towel on the nightstand, put it back after a few passes over his chest and stomach, and rolled onto his side, then he slipped his arms around Oliver, humming in what Oliver guessed was feigned contentment. Naturally, he was still hot and painfully hard, his voice not entirely recovered.

“That was nice,” he cooed breathlessly, and Oliver grimaced. The first time, a month ago, he accepted Len’s attempts to brush off his failure; the second time, last week, he protested, but ultimately let Len reassure him. But this was just too much.

“Don’t lie to me,” he mumbled, half-hoping that Len wouldn’t hear.

But he heard, and there he went again with his assurances.

“I’m not lying,” he said, and Oliver was almost shocked at the conviction in his tone. “I really enjoyed that!”

Oliver scowled harder at the ceiling. “How? I haven’t improved any!”

“You’ve improved a lot! I honestly thought that was the best yet.”

“I couldn’t even satisfy you!”

“What makes you think that?” Len had the audacity to say, as if the evidence wasn’t pressing solidly against Oliver’s side. He’d gotten so close, too, but ultimately...

Heat prickled at the back of his eye. No, no, he was _not_ about to start crying. As if he could stand to be any more pathetic than he already was.

Instead, he wriggled and shrugged Len’s arms away to face him, nuzzling his head below Len’s chin. Maybe he could fall asleep like this, and then he’d wake up a less miserable person. Wouldn’t that be nice.

Len brought him back into the safe haven of his arms, tracing a thumb below his ear. “ _Itoshii,_ look at me, please,” he urged, his voice low and soft.

Not really meaning to, Oliver relaxed, just a bit. _Itoshii._ For how much of a romantic Len was, even he didn’t use that term terribly often. It didn’t make Oliver want to look up at all. It made him want to cuddle closer, hold him tighter.

“You know how much stamina I’ve got?” Len went on, realizing his efforts were futile. “It takes me longer to jack off than it takes some people to get their clothes off, get the deed done, and get dressed again.”

Stubbornly, Oliver did his best not to laugh.

“But I’m...” he said instead, not really sure where to go with it. “I... y-you trust me with your body so I should at least know how to make you feel good.”

“You do!” He pulled back now, pressing his fingers below Oliver’s chin to tilt his head up. “You make me feel all _kinds_ of nice things,” he added, bouncing his eyebrows in some mock-seductive manner.

Of all the things he could have said, Oliver was sure he’d picked something so corny solely to cheer him up. And damn him, it worked.

“ _There’s_ a smile.” Len brought his head back in to kiss the crown of it. “You’re amazing,” he said into the fluffy mess of Oliver's hair. “I wasn’t lying. I was literally like two seconds away. But I got concerned because you looked really frustrated, so I stopped, and...”

Oliver’s smile faded just as soon as it had occurred. Part of him — most of him, really — wished Len had been selfish just a moment longer. At least then he wouldn’t be nursing a wounded ego. He didn’t have enough ego to spare.

Nevertheless, he could probably let it end here. Len would hold him and kiss him and whisper words of adoration into the night, and then Oliver would eventually feel confident enough to try again at some point in the future. That was what he’d done the past two times. Even now, Len’s skin was cooling, and the press against Oliver was growing less prominent. Len was already over it, or at least willing to hold off until Oliver was too.

But… He’d gotten so close. Even if it was cheating — though what counted as “cheating” when it came to sex? — maybe he could…

Len made a startled noise when Oliver took hold of him, and all it took was a few slow strokes for his cool, reassuring demeanor to abandon him.

“Are you still in the mood?” Oliver asked, the swell within his palm answering in Len’s stead. “I could finish you off right quick, if you’d like.” _Assuming I don’t muck that up, too._

For a moment Len didn’t answer. He opened his mouth as if to object, shut it as though realizing he didn’t _want_ to object, closed his eyes, savored Oliver’s touch, opened his mouth, shut it again.

“Actually…” he finally decided. “I… I really wasn’t lying about— about liking that, you were… right near the end you adjusted a little bit and you, uh, you just... started hitting the right spot, y’know, and it...” He licked his lips quickly, giving a nervous smile. “It felt nice.”

Oliver returned that smile, shyer still. Against his better judgement, he asked, “Would you… like me to do it again?” 

A pulse of color dusted Len’s cheeks and nose, and he throbbed in Oliver’s grasp.

There was his answer, it seemed.

“Just… don’t expect too much,” he added, smiling ruefully. Len just shushed him, pulling him in for a series of playful, heated kisses, giggling like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

Oliver had wished more than once that he had as much faith in himself as Len did.

Well, best not to disappoint him. Again.

He pushed lightly against Len’s chest, signaling for him to lay back. He complied without hesitation. Oliver, on the other hand, couldn’t _stop_ hesitating: he sat up on his knees and watched Len for a moment (because Len already couldn’t keep his hands off of himself), he knelt closer to kiss him (because when all else failed, that always worked), he decided against it and placed that kiss against the base of Len’s throat instead (because his lips were, frankly, starting to go numb).

He rested his hands on Len’s arms, then moved them just as quickly to his chest, then his hips. Intimacy didn’t come easily to him when he was anxious. Maybe a straightforward approach was best.

Following suit with that idea, he kept his left hand on Len’s hip and let the fingers of his right trail down the dip of his pelvis, then lower still. Len was still slick, and his body offered little resistance.

Oliver bit his lip and did his best to ignore Len’s pleased groan. _I haven’t even done anything yet, you dense git._

Clumsy fingers felt around blindly for what felt like hours but was probably less than a minute. It shouldn’t have been this difficult. He’d found that spot once or twice before, and Len’s reaction was usually obvious. Was he even close? Or was his prodding just painful at this point? Damn it all, could he not do _anything_ right?

Fingertips brushed softly over his right cheek, drawing his attention away.

“Focus on me.” It was spoken like a command, delivered with the tenderness of a request. Len’s right hand found Oliver’s opposite cheek, and he leaned up to kiss him gently, a behest to take his time.

Oliver took a steadying breath, then he complied. He let his fingers rest a moment before trying again. Between kisses, Len whispered instructions against his lips — _“Little higher,” “Left just a bit,” “Curl your fingers a little more”._ It was the last instruction, which Oliver may have executed a bit too quickly, that made Len tense; Oliver broke away to watch his face, repeating the action a few more times with a lighter touch.

Len inhaled deeply, a sort of slow gasp, head lolling back, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it,” he sighed, his voice husky. “There you go.”

That reaction, those words, they settled deep into Oliver’s chest and swelled as he watched and worked. Gentle moans cascaded from Len, and his hips shifted to better guide Oliver’s touch. Meanwhile, his hands returned to himself, caressing every inch of exposed skin that he could reach. 

Best to give him some help, Oliver thought; he leaned forward enough to capture Len’s lips in another kiss, grinning when his added hand prompted Len to break that kiss off with a gasp. His own hands abandoned their task in favor of clutching at the sheets, gaping up at the ceiling as Oliver worked him inside and out, his vocalizations growing in intensity.

Oliver’s sight was growing fuzzy, and he could feel his heartbeat throbbing in every inch of his body. Oh, he could watch this all day and never tire.

“Is it good?” he asked, half just to make sure and half to continue stroking his ego. Len’s eager nod made Oliver that much more proud.

“I don’t— want you to stop,” he replied, and the tension in his voice made Oliver feel delightfully dizzy. “But I— I, I want…”

He gave the cutest whimper when Oliver withdrew his fingers, and Oliver considered just giving him what they both wanted then and there. But he also doubted Len would appreciate being unable to walk straight in the morning. For his part, Len waited patiently while Oliver applied a palmful of lube, and Oliver rewarded his patience well.

They sighed deeply in tandem, and while Len adjusted, Oliver took a moment to recompose himself. This time. This time for sure.

_Focus on me._

Right. He kept screwing up because he kept panicking and losing focus. He couldn’t worry about himself. All that mattered was Len.

“Ollie-kun...” His voice was deeper than his normal tenor, yet soft and bright. His right leg he draped over Oliver’s left, but he drew his left knee up higher. Oliver took that as a sign; he hooked his arm under Len’s knee and hiked it up (carefully, lest Len pull a muscle, then that would _really_ ruin things), tilting Len nearly onto his side in the process.

“Oh—” Len’s eyes went wide at the change in position, and Oliver gave a few slow thrusts, gauging his reaction. He was tense for a moment, then he all but melted into the sheets. “ _Ohhh,_ that’s perfect, just like that.”

Oliver grinned. He liked this change, too; a little awkward to maintain from his end, but Len clenched and unclenched with every movement as though he couldn’t get enough, as though he wanted every last bit of what Oliver could offer, and the sensation alone made up for the odd angle. And he couldn’t help but wonder if he could go further…

Bringing Len’s knee up as high as he could, he sat back for a moment and slipped his hand up to his calf. “Help me out,” he said; Len cracked his eyes open, then he nodded. Oliver kept forgetting how flexible Len was. He had no trouble getting his leg up over Oliver’s shoulder while the other stayed where it was.

And his reaction to this change was even more severe than the first.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he breathed, those darkened cerulean eyes going wide and unfocused again. Emboldened, Oliver continued, a little harder and a little faster. “Oh my _God—_ ” Len’s voice cracked violently at that utterance— “Oh my— ah— aah, that— Oli— Oliver, p-perfect, that’s—” and nothing he said beyond that point made a bit of sense.

Both hands freed, Oliver was able to brace himself directly over Len (whose leg went all the way back; Oliver would have been impressed were he not so preoccupied). Len shouted, sudden and throaty, and Oliver nearly stopped— was he hurt? Was it too much? But Len squeaked out a breathless “ _Right there, right there_ ” to soothe his nerves. 

He’d shut his eyes, and his face was bright red and dripping with sweat, and his legs were quivering, and he panted and moaned and clawed at Oliver’s back while he stroked himself, and he was so lovely and so warm and made such wonderful noises and kept clenching at just the right moments and it felt _heavenly,_ tight and hot and wet and— and—

**_Focus._ **

Right. Thinking would be the end of him. Oliver blocked out the signals his body sent him. He kept his pace steady and focused solely on Len, on the signals _he_ was sending. His moans had been reduced to noiseless gasps, and tears once more clung to his lashes, and his legs were tensing to the point of outright shaking— and this time, Oliver didn’t dwell on it. He gripped handfuls of sheets and grit his teeth and bucked against Len as rapidly and forcefully as he could manage.

“D-don’t stop,” Len managed, and Oliver could hardly hear him over the rush of blood in his ears and the creak of the bed springs. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t st _ah_ — **_ah—!_ **”

Len’s back arched off of the mattress, and he dug his nails in so deeply Oliver was sure they drew blood, and that was enough to make him loose grasp of his control.

This time, he welcomed it.

No sooner had the rush subsided than did Oliver realize his arms were wobbling. They gave out before he could do anything about it. 

Len didn’t embrace him or stroke his hair like he usually did post-coitus. He just laid limp beneath Oliver, chest heaving against his, and his pulse thumped wildly against Oliver’s ear. So they just caught their breath for a few minutes, the air between them punctuated with the occasional voiced huff or soft groan.

Oliver welcomed that as well.

“K-knew you could do it.” Len’s voice wasn’t quite back, but he tried. “Good job.”

Oliver tried saying something in return, but he couldn’t find his voice at all, so he nodded in thanks. 

It hit him a moment later, why he couldn’t quite get comfortable: Len’s leg was still pinned between them.

“Ah—” he pulled back quickly so the leg could return to a less… painful-looking position. But if having his foot well above his head had caused Len any discomfort, he wasn’t showing it. In fact, he wasn’t showing _any_ signs of conscious awareness. He just stared blankly upward, drawing unsteady breaths through parted lips, kneading absentmindedly at the sheets.

Oliver wasn’t sure if he should be proud or worried.

“Are… are you okay?” he asked. 

Not even looking at him, Len flashed a weak thumbs-up. 

“Are you sure?” Oliver leaned back in to brush his fingers over Len’s burning forehead.

“Honestly,” a deeply winded Len responded, “I'm pretty sure I’m still coming.”

Pride won over concern, in spite of Oliver’s best efforts.

That pride intensified when Len’s eyes finally came back into focus, cool and kind and locked directly on him, as though he was the one and only person in existence. 

He reached up and pulled Oliver back down, trapping him in a sticky and sweaty hug.

“That was _awesome!_ ” Oliver couldn’t help but giggle — Len was nuzzling his cheek like cat. It tickled. “That’s gonna— _phew—_ gonna be the one I think about when…” Len’s arms squeezed tighter, and he rolled them both onto their sides. “Sorry. Can’t catch my breath.”

Oliver almost wondered if Len wasn’t suffering an asthma attack. But the triumphant and snuggly feeling of fulfillment, at long last, made him ignore everything that wasn’t Len’s words of praise. “A little better than not getting an orgasm then immediately having to spout false reassurances, isn’t it?”

“Hey, none of it was false.” Len lifted onto his elbow, like he was about to say something sincere or profound, but he just stayed there for a moment, then he collapsed onto his back, exhaling deeply.

Alright, maybe Oliver _was_ starting to get a little worried.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“M-might need some water or somethin’.” Len was sporting a big, goofy grin, his face still red with satisfaction, and Oliver had half a mind to just lay there and watch him for the rest of the night. “Maybe a cool shower and a warm bath.”

Oliver inclined his head (as though Len could actually see the action). “I’ll get the bath started. Then while you rinse off I’ll change out the sheets and get you a drink.”

He stretched out his weak muscles and kissed Len’s cheek before getting to his feet, and he’d just found a suitable temperature for the bath water when Len joined him, hugging him from behind and pressing lazy kisses to the crown of his head.

“You fucked me into the next dimension,” he said, his voice thick with affection, “so I’m gonna cuddle you into that dimension with me.”

“That… that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Mm.”

Somewhere in the midst of the bathing and the cleaning and the cuddling, Oliver thought that maybe this was as good as he’d get. Maybe he’d done _too_ well, set expectations too high, and maybe in the future he’d fail in those expectations so spectacularly it would send their entire sex life into a downward spiral, all because of that one night he actually hadn’t screwed up.

For the time being, he pushed the thought aside and let himself celebrate a rare victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Ollie. You could be literally the worst fuck in the world and Len would still be head-over-heels for you.
> 
> Fun fact: I'm an amazing typist (one of my few real-world-applicable skills, really), so whenever I'm not plagued with writer's block, I can finish chapters in no time flat. However, I had carpal/cubital tunnel surgery a few weeks ago (again), which left my arm a useless hunk of plaster and gauze for two weeks, so the bulk of this was typed out with my right index finger.
> 
> I don't know how I ever survived typing like that before taking keyboarding. My index finger can't keep up with my thoughts. It's hell.


End file.
